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Gray.

Gray.

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Sep 8, 2017
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Poetry
No one painted the sky, its just trapped moisture. Not one magi could've guessed the future, they never lived to prove it. Even how I wondered how I'd try feeling it again, I thought I already lost it. 'Coz its not always a scenic catch, sometimes the heavens stains bad.
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It can't be But then he saw her And it all comes flooding back It can't be What if there's more to Rain then meets the eye? **TW - mentions of past sexual and psychological abuse and substance abuse**

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